


5 Times Aziraphale Spoke With His Wings + 1 Time He Spoke With His Heart

by Nonexistenz, Z A Dusk (snakeandmoon)



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Angel Wings, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Angst with a Happy Ending, Aziraphale Has a Penis (Good Omens), Aziraphale Loves Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale and Crowley Through The Ages (Good Omens), Aziraphale and Crowley in Love (Good Omens), Aziraphale/Crowley First Kiss (Good Omens), Aziraphale/Crowley First Time (Good Omens), Community: Do It With Style Events, Crowley Has a Penis (Good Omens), Crowley Loves Aziraphale (Good Omens), Digital Art, During Canon, First Kiss, First Time, Happy Ending, Light Angst, M/M, Mutual Pining, Pining, The Ineffable Plan (Good Omens), Top Crowley (Good Omens), Wings, aziraphale talks with his wings like some people talk with their hands
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-19
Updated: 2021-02-19
Packaged: 2021-03-14 19:09:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,426
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29547039
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nonexistenz/pseuds/Nonexistenz, https://archiveofourown.org/users/snakeandmoon/pseuds/Z%20A%20Dusk
Summary: Aziraphale can't always say what he truly wants to say to Crowley. But his wings always tell the truth. A gentle journey of falling in love through history, told in wing hugs and stolen moments of closeness.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 25
Kudos: 142
Collections: Do It With Style Good Omens Reverse Bang, Top Crowley Library





	5 Times Aziraphale Spoke With His Wings + 1 Time He Spoke With His Heart

**Author's Note:**

> My fourth and final Do It With Style Events Reverse Bang Piece!
> 
> When I saw [Nonexistenz's](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nonexistenz) gorgeous art, I fell in love. Their idea, of Aziraphale using his wings to express affection even when he couldn't say what he meant, was so enchanting and I'm happy that I got to flesh the idea out into a fic!
> 
> Thank you so much to my beta BFF [Mira](https://archiveofourown.org/users/miraworos) for polishing this so beautifully!

**The first time it happened** , Crawly was on the wall of Eden. It was the day after the first storm, and Crawly was under strict instructions to return to Hell for his next assignment. He hoped the whole eat-the-apple business had gone down well enough that his next job would be half-decent. Not like the unfortunate bastards who were tasked with torturing fallen souls (though some of the more twisted demons, like Hastur, seemed to enjoy that). Crawly sighed, rubbing his dry and gritty eyes. Bloody constant swirling sand sticking fucking everywhere. 

Making trouble was fine. He could do that. Before his fall, he'd quite enjoyed asking the wrong (or right) questions, needling arrogant angels, getting a rise out of the likes of Gabriel. But deep down where he’d never let anyone else see, Crawly was afraid. He’d seen some disgustingly creative things happen to demons who didn’t toe the party line, and he quite fancied keeping all of his limbs intact. 

Adam and Eve had long since vanished. He’d last seen them heading towards a stand of rough, scrubby trees. He wondered what would become of them, and whether giving them knowledge had truly been the wrong thing. It was certainly wrong in Her eyes, which made it a win as far as Hell was concerned. Was it truly wrong, though, to give knowledge? Seemed pretty arrogant to create two beings, then refuse to tell them the whole truth about their natures, or the universe in which they found themselves.

Crawly’d thought about it till his head ached. The white sands and bright sun were blinding, a stark contrast to the angry skies and stinging rain the previous day. He was thinking of changing to his serpent form and slithering down the wall in search of a cool drink and somewhere shady to lie down for a bit before returning to Hell. Before he could move, he heard a soft footfall on the wall beside him, and looked up into the face of the odd, fussy, kind angel who’d given the humans his sword, and then put his wing over Crawly when the rains came.

“Hello,” the angel - Aziraphale - said, sitting down on the wall beside Crawly. “You really can see for miles from up here, can’t you?”

“Yeah, not a bad view I suppose.”

“Are you going back to Hell?”

“Not got much choice, really.”

“Ah, I suppose not.”

Crawly let that stand without comment, not having much else to say. But the angel twisted his fingers together as if worried about something, and though he was pretending to admire the view, he kept stealing glances at Crawly.

After a few minutes, Crawly could bear it no longer.

“Something wrong?”

“No, of course not, dear boy. Nothing at all. Only … will you be alright, in Hell?”

Crawly shook his head as if to clear his ears. As if he’d misheard. Why did the angel care?

“Course I will.”

“Yes, quite. Forgive me. Only, I should not like to think of you … anyway. When do you leave?”

“In a bit. Gonna enjoy the view for a while first.”

All thoughts of water and cool shady places flew from Crawly’s head, because finding those things would mean leaving the angel. And for reasons he could not fathom, Crawly felt comfortable around the strange celestial being. He wasn’t like the rest of them.

Just then, Aziraphale tucked his wing around Crawly as if it was the most natural thing in the world. As if casual, affectionate touch was a thing that happened to demons. Crawly opened his mouth to ask what the angel was doing, but snapped it shut again. The angel’s feathers were whiter than the desert sands, smooth and warm as if each vane had stored the sunlight, saving it for when it was needed. It felt good, and, perhaps selfishly, he didn’t want the angel to stop touching him with those lovely feathers. 

So they sat in companionable silence, watching the landscape change subtly as the day marched on. Aziraphale kept his wing around Crawly. Crawly resisted the powerful urge to reach out and stroke the beautiful long white feathers--barely. 

And an angel and a demon watched over the new world together.

* * *

**The second time it happened** , Crawly was sitting high on a bleak hillside, watching the eerily still post-flood landscape. He could see the ark in the distance. He heard voices from that direction, where the humans had ventured out and started rebuilding their lives. Noah calling to his wife, the younger family members laughing at the antics of the pairs of animals that were exploring the newly undrowned world-- the only sounds for miles around. 

Crawly was surprised to find his face suddenly wet. He looked up at the sky. No rain - there hadn’t been rain for a couple of days now. The water was coming from him. Was it a design flaw? Was the toxic atmosphere of Hell damaging his corporation? He bloody hoped not, he wanted to keep it for a good few thousand years yet. He’d seen humans do this of course. Seemed to be an effect of having a lot of feelings at once.

Feelings were confusing and foreign and Crawly wasn’t sure if he liked them or not.

“Hello, Crawly.”

Crawly looked up to see Aziraphale standing over him, holding something in his hands. Something which he was offering the demon.

“Whassat then?”

“It’s a peach,” Aziraphale explained. “I had one in the garden and it was rather lovely. Trees are starting to flourish and bear fruit again - there are some growing just over there. I saw you sitting up here and thought you might like some refreshment.”

“Offering fruit to unsuspecting innocents? Isn’t that my job?”

The angel gave a huff, but his eyes twinkled with something Crawly might have called fondness, if it weren’t preposterous to think so. “It’s just a peach, Crawly, it doesn’t contain ultimate knowledge of good and evil.”

“That’s alright then,” Crawly said, a little mockingly, but he took the peach anyway, and bit into it. “‘S nice.” 

Aziraphale smiled, as if delighted to have given Crawly something he liked. Which thought made Crawly’s insides squirm in a strange way. Aziraphale sat down beside him, and they sat in silence for a while.

Crawly finished the peach, and sucked the last of the juice from the stone. Aziraphale was fairly approachable, for an angel, and there was something honest and earnest about him. Maybe Crawly could ask him about the strange water that had leaked from his eyes. Swallowing his shame at not knowing something, Crawly spoke, keeping his eyes on the landscape.

“Weird thing happened to me just now,” he admitted. “Was looking over at the ark, and water started leaking from my eyes.”

“You cried,” the angel said simply. “Human bodies do that when they get very emotional.”

“Huh. How’d you know that?”

Aziraphale didn’t answer, and Crawly’s insides turned to lead at the realisation that the angel most likely knew through bitter experience. Crawly knew what Heaven could be like, and he’d already seen how expressive Aziraphale’s face was, how emotional he got. He would take Heaven’s admonishments to heart.

“D’ya ever think about it?” Crawly nodded towards the ark. “Not right, was it, drowning all those people?”

“It’s the ineffable plan,” Aziraphale said as if reciting practised words. “God knows what She’s doing. It’s not for us to understand.”

Yet, as he spoke, he brought his wings onto the physical plain, and tucked one around Crawly. Without thinking, the demon found himself relaxing into it. The angel’s wing was warm and so soft, like snuggling a sunlit cloud. When he unthinkingly combed his fingers through the bright white feathers, Aziraphale shivered. Crawly looked up to apologise, and found Aziraphale giving him the tiniest half smile. Neither of them spoke again, but suddenly Hell and God and the whole ineffable plan nonsense felt more bearable.

* * *

**The third time it happened** , things were not going well. It was 1653, and Crowley was feeling antsy. He’d asked around Hell to try and get more information about what Upstairs was planning, but his superiors didn’t know and didn’t like him asking questions. Fourteenth century minds, the lot of them.

So he figured he’d ask Aziraphale. They had the arrangement. They’d drunk in many a tavern, staggered merrily to one or the other’s lodgings to make sure the drunker of them got home safely (before remembering to miracle themselves sober). They’d debated plays, poked interestedly at ancient stone circles, dolmens, and other such human wonders. They’d talked at length about human innovation, about nature, about literature and stories and food.

Surely, the angel would be open to discussing the end of the world? After all, they both lived in it.

“Hey, angel, you ever think we should try and find out what Heaven’s planning?” Crowley asked him, gesturing vaguely with the tankard in his hand. He quickly thought better of misusing the poor mead that way and took a huge glug of it instead.

“It’s the ineffable plan, Crowley. It’s not for us to know.”

“Aw, c’mon, angel!” Crowley took another swig, then put the tankard down and leaned forward to peer intensely, if rather unsteadily, at Aziraphale. “You could find out!”

“Crowley, I am not spying …”

“S’not spying, though, isssit? Is. It?” Crowley attempted to wrangle his words into behaving. “You’re n’angel. Nothing wrong with you poking about up there.”

“To do what, Crowley?” Aziraphale put his own drink down and frowned at the demon. 

Crowley tried very hard not to focus on the way Aziraphale’s hair looked in the soft candlelight, or the way his hose clung tantalisingly to his legs.

“See if we can do sumthinboutit. Stop it, like. No more ‘mageddon.”

“Crowley, you are drunk. I suggest we both sober up.”

“Fine!” Crowley snapped his fingers, sobering up far too fast and leaving himself giddy and sick. “I’m sober now and I still think we should find out - happy?”

“Far from it! We have the arrangement, Crowley. I thought we were getting on perfectly well all things considered, but now this … this … you …”

“I what, angel?” Crowley stood up, pacing the room. “Reminded you that this … whatever this is … is only going to last till Heaven decides to unleash the angels of war?”

Aziraphale looked up at him then, his expression so raw and unguarded that Crowley stopped pacing.

“Angel …”

“Don’t you see, Crowley? Even if I knew what Heaven was planning, I couldn’t tell you. We’re on opposite sides, remember?”

Deflated, Crowley sank onto the wooden settle beside the angel.

“Is that it, then? I’m just the enemy?”

“What on earth else could you be, Crowley? You are a demon. You chose to rebel against everything I am supposed to represent.”

Crowley opened his mouth to say some choice words, but snapped it shut when Aziraphale’s wings opened, and one curled gently around him.

“Angel?”

“I can’t just … defy Heaven,” Aziraphale continued. “Did you know they still throw angels into boiling sulphur? What if I … if I …”

“Become like me?” Crowley snapped, and Aziraphale’s wing tightened around him. Crowley looked down at the smooth white feathers, in sharp relief against the black velvet of his own doublet.

“No, no, Crowley, I …”

“Satan’s sake your wings are distracting,” Crowley snarled, too at war with his own emotions to say anything else.

“Beg pardon?”

Crowley gestured at Aziraphale’s wing. “You keep doing - whatever this is - and I fucking love it. Probably shouldn’t.”

Aziraphale bit his lip then, and oh, wasn’t that a lovely sight? Crowley wanted to bite it too. Had for a long time, if he was honest with himself.

“It’s um, unconscious, really. A reaction to … to seeing you, to you needing … to wanting to be kind to you.”

“Yeah?”

“Crowley, stop it. You know I can’t - we can’t - “

And then, as if he’d failed to convince himself not to do it, Aziraphale bridged the distance between them and kissed Crowley, hard. 

Crowley responded in the only way he could: He grabbed Aziraphale’s doublet and pulled him even closer, impatiently deepening the kiss and growling at the way Azirapale parted his lips. He pushed his other hand into Aziraphale’s hair, tugging non too lightly. Aziraphale met him with equal ardor, kissing Crowley so hungrily that Crowley felt himself growing harder. When they broke apart, the angel was panting slightly, his lips swollen from Crowley’s rough kisses.

“We shouldn’t have -” he gasped out, and Crowley nodded mutely. The angel was probably right, but it still hurt. He still wanted Aziraphale, wanted to keep him close, protect him. Aziraphale gave him a tiny, sad smile, but his wings were still open and rubbing Crowley’s arms and back soothingly. Crowley couldn’t help smiling back, and Aziraphale’s own expression warmed in response. 

“I should go,” he said quietly, his face falling again.

Crowley nodded, then turned and pressed a gentle, lingering kiss to the arch of Aziraphale’s wing, feeling how soft it was against his lips, how it tasted fresh and clean, like snowfall. 

Aziraphale’s wings squeezed reflexively around Crowley, and then he was gone. The room was too quiet and dark without him, but it felt like they’d reached an understanding. Crowley had hope, at last, that his feelings for the angel were reciprocated, even if they couldn't talk of them.

* * *

**The fourth time it happened** , Crowley found Aziraphale sitting in the gutter on a Soho street, only ten minutes walk from his bookshop. It was 1978, and the world was lit by neon signs, a soundtrack of Abba and David Bowie failing to cover over the discontent of the miner’s strikes and the bitterly cold winter. Aziraphale himself looked freezing, wearing only his shirt sleeves and no coat.

Crowley sat down on the pavement beside his angel.

“Are you alright?”

“Hm? Oh, yes, perfectly fine, dear boy,” Aziraphale waved a hand dismissively, but Crowley could see he’d been crying.

“Yeah, because you’d sit in a gutter letting your clothes get wet and muddy if you were in your right mind. Sure, and I’m a pink hellhound. C’mon, angel, at least let me take you back to the bookshop.”

Crowley stood and stretched out his hand to Aziraphale, who took it and let himself be hauled to his feet. They walked back to the bookshop in silence. Once inside, Aziraphale not only miracled his clothes clean and dry, but miracled himself into pajamas, a warm-looking tartan dressing gown, and fur-lined slippers. He looked impossibly cosy and huggable, and Crowley had to clasp his hands behind his back to keep from reaching out and just embracing him.

“Spit it out, then. What the hell were you doing sitting there?”

Aziraphale sighed, glanced towards the kitchen, then shook his head and miracled two mugs of cocoa instead. Handing one to Crowley, he sat on the couch. Crowley paused, about to pick a chair or something, then took a deep breath and plunked himself down beside the angel. Aziraphale gave a little smile at that.

“It’s silly, really. I just had a raging fight with the Archangels. I get so frustrated, you know, going up there and having to stand before them like a recalcitrant child while they belittle me.”

“What’d you fight over?”

“The antichrist. I don’t think it’s fair to put people on this earth, which is quite frankly already hard enough to live on, when they’re going to die at Armageddon anyway. Did you know three men drowned, Crowley? Just fell through the ice on Hampstead Heath Pond. I know people die all the time, but …”

“But this winter feels particularly shitty, what with the strikes and fuel shortages. I get it, angel. And you live here in London, it’s home. Things that happen here affect you more.”

“I suppose so.” Aziraphale took a sip of cocoa, then put his mug down. It had angel wings for a handle. Crowley was far more charmed than he ought to be by that. “Anyway, look, sorry you found me sitting there. I was walking home from the meeting, and I found a young mother shivering in a doorway, panicking about how to feed her very cold-looking child. I gave them some money and my coat. I wanted to just do … something.”

“We could …ngk ...” Crowley paused, cleared out some of the consonants that had got stuck in his throat, and tried again. “Could try and do something about it.”

“You know we can’t. I can’t interfere with divine plans, and nor can you.”

“Aziraphale, ‘m a demon. Can do what I want.”

“Yes, because Hell is known for being so lenient with its denizens.” Aziraphale twisted the button on his waistcoat. “There’s nothing we can do, Crowley. And even if we could, I wouldn't. I can’t just jump sides, you know.”

As he spoke, he gently unfurled his wings and wrapped one around Crowley. Crowley passed his hand carefully along one long wing bone. “I know you know you’re doing this, Aziraphale. Dunno if it’s conscious or not, but your wings say what your mouth daren’t. Am I right?”

Aziraphale gave a small shrug, but his wing pulled Crowley closer, and there they stayed, sheltered in white feathers till dawn.

* * *

**The fifth time it happened** was the day before the antichrist’s eleventh birthday. They were in the back of Aziraphale’s shop, where they’d been drinking solidly for hours.

“All we can do is wait till tomorrow. We’ll go to the party. I’ll ….”

“Refrain from doing your magic act,” Crowley groused, pacing around, and Aziraphale glared at him.

“... use my position as entertainer to keep an eye on the boy.”

“What if it doesn’t work?” Crowley said suddenly, because he couldn’t not ask. 

Aziraphale frowned blearily up at him. Crowley sighed and sat down next to Aziraphale.

“Of course it will work,” Aziraphale said firmly, though his eyes betrayed his doubt. 

“And if it doesn’t?” Crowley found himself swaying forward, as if the angel was the sun and he was an open bloom seeking its warmth.

“Then we will … we’ll come up with something … Crowley, I … I need to sober up.”

Crowley sat back, trying not to look affronted. For a moment, he’d hoped Aziraphale might let Crowley hold him again, just once, just in case it all went tits up the next day …

And suddenly, Aziraphale was kissing him. 

“You ought to sober up too,” he muttered between slotting his mouth against Crowley’s. “Just so we both know it wasn’t the drink talking.” 

The alcohol was out of Crowley’s bloodstream almost before the words were out of Aziraphale’s mouth. Then they were kissing slowly, taking their time with each other. Crowley had half-expected it to be as frantic as the first time, but it was leisurely.

“I want you,” Aziraphale said frankly. Crowley opened his eyes and gazed at the angel, whose own expressive eyes said so much that he couldn't say out loud. Crowley understood. Lust could be explained to their respective sides. Love could not. “Just to know … if our plan does not work … to know we were that close, Crowley.”

“Have you ever ….? I don’t mind, angel, just want to know if … if I’m your first.”

“Never. Just … only wanted you.”

Crowley reached out and traced his finger over Aziraphale’s p;ush lower lip. “Same here, angel.”

Aziraphale was in his arms then, his fingers in Crowley’s hair and his warm breath against Crowley’s lips as they kissed, as Aziraphale tentatively slipped his tongue into Crowley’s mouth, making them both groan. When Aziraphale climbed into Crowley’s lap, straddling his hips, Crowley thought he might break, that his love for his angel might shatter him. He reached for Aziraphale, rubbing his sides gently, sliding a hand behind Aziraphale’s back to hold him.

“This position is not conducive to mutual undressing.” Aziraphale laughed, raising his hand as if to snap. “May I?”

“Fuck yes, angel, do anything you want,” Crowley growled. 

Aziraphale snapped his fingers, leaving them both naked. Suddenly Crowley found himself with unfettered access to all of Aziraphale. He had to close his eyes for a moment to steady himself, then he opened them again quickly, so as not to miss a single moment.

“You’re beautiful,” he breathed, and Aziraphale blushed most fetchingly. “Oh, angel, look at you ….”

“You can do more than look, Crowley,” Aziraphale whispered teasingly, and Crowley laughed at his cheekiness, wrapping both arms around Aziraphale and pulling him as close as possible, reveling in the feel of the angel’s warm skin against his own. He let his hands become explorers, mapping out Aziraphale’s body, kneading his shoulders. His fingers danced down Aziraphale’ spine, dipping into the creases of his hips, palms discovering the curve of his stomach and the strength of his chest. Aziraphale was just as eager, his hands so gentle as he learned the curve of Crowley’s spine, the span of his ribs, the lean muscles of his thighs. 

When the angel leaned down and sucked slowly at the base of Crowley’s neck, the demon shuddered and held him tighter. For several long, heated moments, they stayed entwined, Aziraphale sucking and biting the sensitive skin of Crowley’s neck, while Crowley’s hands worshipped Aziraphale’s shoulders and chest, fingers gently grazing his nipples. 

Aziraphale moved to kiss him again, messy and wild. He buried his hands in Crowley’s hair, moaning and panting against his mouth as he started to move, rocking in Crowley’s lap and squeezing his thighs against Crowley’s hips.

“Crowley, please.” Aziraphale cupped Crowley’s face in his hands, trembling and writhing, giving a sudden cry when his movements caused his erection to brush Crowley’s stomach, making the demon shudder and grab hold of Aziraphale’s thighs as if to keep him right there. “Please ..” The angel sounded utterly wrecked. “Please I’ve wanted you for so long …”

Crowley leaned up and kissed Aziraphale tenderly, lingering over it, sucking slowly at his lower lip and savouring the ozone taste of him. “Tell me exactly what you want, angel, and I’ll make it happen. I’ll make this so good for you, I promise.”

Aziraphale leaned his forehead on Crowley’s, panting softly. “I want you inside me if … if you would like that.”

“As if I haven’t imagined that a million times.”

“Oh, really?” Aziraphale looked so delighted that Crowley couldn’t help laughing. As if Crowley didn’t dream of him every time he slept. As if he wouldn’t give up all his demonic power for the chance to touch his angel, bring him pleasure. 

“Really.” Crowley nuzzled the tip of Aziraphale’s nose. “Let me…?” he slid his hand between Aziraphale’s thighs, slicking his fingers as he carefully sought out Aziraphale’s entrance and pressed very gently, not trying to enter him, just rubbing slowly. Aziraphale closed his eyes, his mouth dropping open on a sound of pure pleasure.

“Oh that’s … quite unlike anything … Crowley, may I touch you?”

“Course you can.” Crowley rasped out, helping things along by taking Aziraphale’s hand and guiding it downwards, quickly slicking the angel’s fingers as he showed Aziraphale how to stroke him. The feel of the angel’s hand gliding against his cock made his blood rush downward until he was almost painfully hard.

“OK, you gotta stop that unless you want me to come all over you.” He managed to laugh, one hand gripping Aziraphale’s hip to hold him steady as Crowley slid his finger inside the angel, whimpering at the sudden heat and tightness. 

“Faster.” Aziraphale told him. “I won’t break, Crowley, I’ve waited so long, we both have …”

Crowley leaned his forehead against the angel’s shoulder and just groaned. How was he supposed to process this, the nearness of his angel, the rich taste of his lust, the incredible sounds he was making … but then Aziraphale was pushing harder against his fingers, Crowley’s name puffing out of him in surprised gasps of pleasure. And how could Crowley think of anything else but pleasing his angel? He pressed deeper, curling his fingers to find the angel’s prostate and rub gently, loving the way it made Aziraphale throw his head back, crying out as if finally set free from a millennia-old prison. Then he rose up on his knees, pulling free of Crowley’s fingers, reaching for Crowley’s now very hard shaft as he repositioned himself in Crowley’s lap. He paused, panting hard, giving Crowley a swift, beautiful smile.

“Is this alright?”

“Fuck yeah, angel, have me.”

Aziraphale nodded, gazing into Crowley’s eyes. “I only ever wanted you.” He said quietly as he shifted against Crowley, strong thighs flexing as he guided Crowley inside him and sank down just a little. 

“Feels so right.” Crowley murmured, pulling Aziraphale down so he could kiss the angel, rocking up just a little, deepening the stretch.

“Crowley, I lo-”

“Shhh.” Crowley hastily put his fingers over Aziraphale’s mouth, other hand holding his hip steady so Crowley could nudge gently deeper and deeper. “Better not say that.”

Aziraphale nodded agreement, but his beautiful white wings opened and curled around Crowley, sliding over the demon’s naked skin until he thought he might cry from pleasure. This was real, Crowley realised giddily. This was really happening. Unfurling his own wings, he wrapped them around Aziraphale and used them to move the angel further down, in gentle increments, until he was seated fully on Crowley’s cock. Aziraphale’s eyes widened as he watched Crowley’s wings moving against his own, reaching out to touch them carefully, as if they were fragile. As if Crowley mattered.

“You’re so warm,” Crowley told Aziraphale, using his own wings to slowly rock the angel against him. “I want to make you feel so good, want you to forget everything but us.”

Aziraphale buried his face against Crowley’s neck, fingers digging hard into his shoulders and then grasping roughly at the roots of his wings, as if only Crowley could hold him together. Crowley turned to press kisses to the corner of Aziraphale’s tempting mouth. “Can I move?” he asked the angel.

“Yes.” The word was broken by a ragged moan. “Crowley, please …”

Crowley thought for a moment that nothing else in Heaven or earth had ever compared to knowing at last how Aziraphale looked and sounded when he was wracked with pleasure, to get to watch him jerk and writhe in Crowley’s arms. His restless hands were never still, until it felt like every inch of Crowley’s skin had known the heat of Aziraphale’s touch. The sensation of Aziraphale clenching against him, slick with lubricant, was unlike anything Crowley had ever known. Suddenly he knew, in every last cell of his bones, that he would do anything to keep this, to keep him. To save the world so he could continue sharing it with Aziraphale.

Then Aziraphale started undulating his hips in a rhythm that really wasn’t fair. How was Crowley supposed to function when Aziraphale had found just how to move to make sure he slid up and down on Crowley’s cock in the most enticing pattern possible? Aziraphale’s wings stretched up and back as if he were truly flying, as Crowley wrapped both arms tight around the angel and buried his face against his chest, planting open mouthed kisses there and crying softly against his celestial lover, overwhelmed.

When the tightness and heat inside Aziraphale got too much to bear and Crowley knew from the tightening in his lower belly that he couldn’t hold back much longer, he kissed his way up to Aziraphale’s neck, biting gently at the angel’s throat and sliding his hand between them to stroke Aziraphale’s cock, finding it hot and swollen under his fingers, fluid already trailing the underside. 

Crowley couldn’t resist tasting, sucking his own fingers and closing his eyes on a moan as at the musky honey and salt taste of his angel, underscored by something ethereal that was purely Aziraphale. He opened his eyes to find Aziraphale gazing at him with rapt attention, his eyes never leaving Crowley’s as the demon reached between them again and swiftly stroked his angel to orgasm. 

The sound of Aziraphale grunting and moaning wantonly, completely uninhibited, was too much, and by the time the angel painted Crowley’s belly in white stripes, Crowley was already coming, choked moans and curses spilling from his lips as he felt himself pumping inside Aziraphale. When they could move and speak again, Crowley carefully eased Aziraphale from his lap, miracling them both clean and then pulling Aziraphale into his arms. 

The sofa stretched to make room for them both, extra pillows appearing out of nowhere as Crowley pulled blankets over them, wanting his angel to be warm and comfortable. He kissed Aziraphale’s temple softly, loving the way his snowy curls tickled Crowley’s lips.

“You alright, then?” He stroked Aziraphale’s shoulders slowly, tracing cloud-patterns there. Aziraphale looked up at him, then leaned up for a kiss.

“I feel safe,” he said simply, then wrapped his arms around Crowley and cuddled into him, wings wrapping around Crowley too. 

Crowley’s own wings curved around Aziraphale, black and white feathers brushing against each other. It would be fine, Crowley decided. He couldn’t lose this. He was keeping Aziraphale, and that was an end to it.

* * *

The sun had never looked brighter, nor the birds sounded clearer, as they did that afternoon in Berkeley Square. Crowley stretched his legs, arm resting across the back of the bench. Being in his own skin again felt even more comfortable than sliding into the driver's seat of the Bentley. He could still feel the traces of Aziraphale’s energy, sparkling like diamonds on water. It was lovely. He’d tell him later, he decided. After they’d gone to lunch, maybe spent the afternoon together.

Crowley wondered if Aziraphale would like to spend the afternoon with him. Maybe even the night. Maybe much longer.

“Tempt you to a spot of lunch?”

“Temptation accomplished.” Aziraphale said brightly, but he didn’t move to get up. Instead he wrapped his wing around Crowley, as if by habit, then laughed softly. “Sorry, dear boy, I have become so used to using my wings to communicate, when I did not dare say what I felt. But I suppose I need not do that now. I can speak plain.”

“I like it,” Crowley told him honestly. “I love when you hold me in your wings.”

“Then I shall not stop.” Aziraphale smiled.

“Angel?”

“Yes, Crowley?”

“I already know how you feel. You already told me with your wings, and the way you always made time for me. The way you light up when you see me, even when you try to cover it up. You told me when you let me see you naked and untamed in my arms.” He paused at the naughty, flirty smile that earned him, sliding along the bench to kiss Aziraphale, tongue teasing the angel’s lips until he parted them and let Crowley kiss him deeply. Aziraphale’s wing tightened around him as they kissed. When they parted, the angel was flushed, his eyes shining.

“I believe you,” he told Crowley. “But I should still like to say the words. Crowley, I love you. I have loved you for a very long time. Your name is written in the core of me. If you should … should like to pick up where we left off on the eve of the antichrist’s eleventh birthday, I am very amenable.”

“So polite,” Crowley said, kissing Aziraphale’s cheeks and temples, his jaw, tongue flicking against his pulse, mouth capturing the angel’s lower lip and sucking. “So well mannered, angel, but I bet I can tempt you to become much less eloquent.”

He felt Aziraphale smile against him. “Most decidedly, and I look forward to it. Are you going to take me to dinner first?”

Crowley threw his head back and laughed, then pulled his angel into a much longer kiss. “What, I’m not tempting enough to distract you from dinner?”

“Mmm, averting the apocalypse then going to Hell is hard work, you know. One builds up an appetite. But you are awfully delectable … perhaps we could wait an hour or two.”

“And do what?” Crowley quirked an eyebrow.

Aziraphale cupped the demon’s face gently, looking at him like he was the most important thing in the universe. 

“This.” 

Then he was in Crowley’s arms, kissing him like he’d never stop, wings and arms both holding the demon tight. And there they stayed, an angel and a demon finally free to explore what it meant to love openly, senses filled only with one another, until evening fell and a nightingale sang in Berkeley Square.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! Comments are fuel for hungry authors - I'd love to know your thoughts ★
> 
> This Crowley definitely gave me All The Seasons of My Heart vibes! He's got a sweet nature and really just wants to be with his angel. Having such a lovely idea to work from made the fic flow out easily, for which I'm grateful!


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